


Bleeding Knees

by PlushRabbit



Category: Obey Me: Shall We Date?, Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Christianity, Fluff, Gen, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlushRabbit/pseuds/PlushRabbit
Summary: Reader goes on a bitter tangent about religion while Diavolo listens.
Relationships: Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Diavolo/Reader (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Bleeding Knees

It’s a restless night where no matter what you do, you can’t sleep. You toss and turn and try to shut your eyes for the tiniest bit of sleep but it leads you nowhere, just limbs lost in blankets and a mind that wanders and lingers too much on unpleasant thoughts.

With a huff, you throw the blankets off, and slip into your slippers, the floor is steady underneath and doesn’t alert your sleeping roommates. The door opens without a squeak and clicks softly when you close it. You walk around aimlessly, your fingertips tracing along the walls, your ears falling flat as you ignore the whisperings of paintings.

You lose yourself within this palace, the walls blend in together, paintings full of color and life make you hesitant to to watch and admire, knowing that they would scrutinize you and huff and puff.

The closer you get to the end of the hallway, the chiller it becomes. There’s a gentle breeze that makes you shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself, your hands rubbing down the sides of your arms for comfort and warmth. 

You crane your head over the corner, spotting a balcony door open wide, curtains fluttering and creating ghastly shadows. There’s a bubble of anxiety that starts to rise but your body has a mind if it’s own, walking towards the open door and stepping onto the balcony. 

You breathe in the fresh air, the cold air nips at your lungs, not ready for the change of temperature. Your brush your fingers against the mental railing, the obsidian railing shines, the intricate details are etched upon the metal. 

The moon shines brilliantly above you. It’s full, large carters visible with a light, warm yellow glow. Stars are visible, hidden for moments behind passing clouds, but shining just as bright when you look at them again.

“It’s usually a clear night here. Sorry that you stayed up late for nothing,” a gentle voice fills in the night chuckles.

You jump and turn your head. “Ah! Lord Diavolo! I-I’m so sorry,” you quiet to a voice in a hush, your cheeks burn red. “I didn’t mean to be awake at this hour, I just couldn’t sleep.” You try to keep his gaze but fall at the tip of his nose, clasping your hands behind your back you look at the open door. “I’ll just be on my way,” you mutter.

“Oh no. Don’t go. You’re free to look around.” He stands next to you, his arms resting at his sides, bright golden eyes watching you. “I just wish you had asked. I wouldn’t want you to get lost.” He pauses, his lips form a smile and there’s a twinkle in his eyes. “Again.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Right.” You pause and force your jaw to unclench. “I just- It was late and I didn’t want to disturb anyone.”

He hums next you and shifts his gaze to the garden. “May I ask you something personal?”

You stare at him, an eyebrow quirked before you return your gaze to the front of you. “Of course.”

He’s silent for a while that you begin to wonder if he really didn’t have a question and just wanted to make conversation. In the short time that you’ve known him, you wouldn’t put it past him but then his voice fills the night. “Do you ever think about death?" 

Your hands still above the railing. "All the time,” you whisper, your fingers scratching the metal railing.

“Would you accept death?” His voice lowers to match yours, his posture straightens and eyes grow heavy.

“With open arms,” you answer honestly. Your eyes glance to the side, and meet his for a second. “I feel as if you’re threatening me, Lord Diavolo,” you say, your tone both teasing tinged by a hint of fear on your words. 

He chuckles. It’s a nice sound, deep and rich. “I would never threaten you." 

You nod, the smile that had been beginning to form falls and you’re both left staring at the scenery in front of you. Your eyes make out the outline of a hedge, following the gentle curves of the art. 

The silence that fills the air is light. The lanterns outside cast a soft orange glow, flickers of shadows dancing across the both of you, your shadows bleeding out into the night.

"Do you fear death?” You ask, breaking the silence.

There’s a twitch of his eyebrows, his expression unreadable before it relaxes, a coy smile plays on his lips. 

“No. I’ll live longer than you can ever comprehend.” Exhaustion laced his voice and for a second he appears older and much more tired. It’s a sight that makes your stomach churn. “Long lifespans make for great kings.” He winks at you, a cheeky grin returning to his face.

“I’m sure you’ll make a great king, Lord Diavolo.” You stand up straight and let out a breath. The trees rustle in the night, branches looming over head. 

“Why don’t you fear death?” His voice cuts through the night, rushed and shaky.

You let out a thoughtful hum. Your posture slinking back down to rest against the railing as you try to find the right words. You open and close your mouth. Tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth and peeking out to wet your lips.

“I suppose,” you start out, “humans- some humans have religion to turn to and I suppose that makes it easier to handle death.”

“Do you turn to religion in your time of need?”

Your eyes narrow and gaze hardens. “No.”

“Why is that?” He pries further, gentle prodding of the sleeping bear.

You stare at the sky, it’s endless and vacant, ends at the horizon and full of stars and colors.

“Religion,” you pause, the word heavy on our tongue, “is something that you’re supposed to dedicate yourself to.” Your stomach churns as you speak to the Lord. “You’re supposed to bleed for God. To kneel and wail praises to the Lord- to God. You should scream and pray until your throat is hoarse and bleeding.” You want to claw your throat. “There is no benevolent God. No God that you can pray to when you’re sobbing in the middle of the night and trying to grasp for air. No, that God is hungry- aching to hear your prayers and sins- to whisper them in the night in hope for forgiveness. You’re supposed to be willing to die, to rip out your heart, to claw your throat and offer God everything you own.” Your throat is burning and it’s getting harder to talk. “You have to beg on the floor like a dog, to kneel and give thanks for everything that you own. That that God,” you spit out the word, “is holy and above, can do no wrong. That everything you have and are is because of them.” You bark out a laughter. It’s sharp and humorless. “Don’t get me wrong. The minute you’re different- the minute that you deviate from who you’re supposed to be, that you cast aside God’s little vessel, you’re thrown away and told that you are nothing more. You’re beaten until you’re black and blue, until you’re crawling and spitting blood, promising to everyone above, that you won’t do it again because if you do, your spirit is going to hell. You’ll be tortured and murdered above ground before you ever reach hell.” Your teeth are bared and you’re speaking through clenched teeth. Eyes sting with unshed tears. “You eat his body and drink his blood but that isn’t enough to protect you. His body is bread and you have to rip it apart- dig your teeth in and bite. His blood is wine and it’s bitter and burns your throat and you have to drink it all as it stains your insides.” You look back at the Lord, golden eyes that shine too bright make you look. “We’re told that demons are evil. Manipulative. That you’ll do your best to whisper lies into us and pervert us.” Your jaw clenches and fists tighten. “If we suffer, it’s all because our faith wasn’t enough.” You don’t have the courage to look him in the eyes so you stare at his medal, the light catches on it and it glimmers. “We’re made to pay the church, we’re forced to give money to a place while we’re told God did everything for free. That he washed the feet of prostitutes when no one else would but the believers, his followers, will turn their nose up at the thought of getting near someone like that. They’ll scowl and spit and yell, insults hurled and whispered all while they go back to church and sing and hold hands and talk about doing good.” You take in a deep breath, the tips of your ears burn and your nails dig into your biceps. “We’re supposed to suffer for God. To praise and pray and sob and bleed,” your voice cracks and a warm brown hand twitches, fingers inching towards you. “We are dogs. Loyal and willing to die. Below our Master. On our knees until we bleed.” Your whole body grows heavy, arms dangling over the railing. “We don’t get to be who we want to be. We have to hide ourselves and pray for this wickedness to go away.” You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized that you’ve been holding in. “That’s religion in the human world.”

Tears burn in your eyes, a lump in your throat makes it hard to breath and bright red lines paint your arms. You turn around and lean on the railing, arms crossed in front of you as you try to regain your breathing. 

“Not a very good relationship with religion I see.” His voice whispers, holding no sarcasm or attempt at a joke- just pure, genuine curiosity.

You chuckle, it isn’t totally devoid of humor. “Yeah.” You nod your head. “Yeah, I guess you could say it’s not a good relationship." 

It’s silent for a while after. Gentle breeze makes the hair on your arms stand and you think about asking where the breeze comes from but you hold your tongue.

It’s comfortable. Two beings enjoying each other’s company while one listens to the other and their relationship to the outside.There is a silent understanding- to no poke or prod. 

Your words hang in the air, heavy yet light. Burning yet cold. You’ve gotten your grievance out and while in no way you are healed, the wounds open and bleeding, you feel lighter. Your shoulders don’t carry a burden, your stomach has lost the everlasting knot, your head feels clear and your heart aches and wants to wail until you can’t speak but you feel as if it’s easier to beat. 

"Not all religion is like that,” you whisper. “In some you aren’t condemned to a life of torture.” You stand a bit taller and wipe your eyes.

“But you still believe in a God?” He asks, attention fully on you. You nod. “What God do you believe in then?” He turns to face you, a gentle smile and reassuring eyes urge you to explain.

“I believe in one that is just,” you answer honestly. “One that doesn’t condemn every one who disobeys to a life of torture, one who loves and welcomes everyone.” You look back at Lord Diavolo and grin. “It’s silly to a demon, but to a human whose life goes by so quick but lasts so long, it’s a nice comfort to have.”

“Humans are very strange.” He runs a hand through his hair, deshelving it in the process.

“Is that why you want relationships to strengthen between the three Realms?”

He nods. “It would be nice to interact freely.” He smiles at you. “Even if not everyone is as passionate as you.” He gives you a chuckle.

“Heh. Are you teasing me Lord Diavolo?" 

He waves his hand and shakes his head. "Please, I appreciate the title but you’re free to call me Diavolo. You aren’t my subject.” He grabs your hand gingerly in his. “You are my guest.” He bows, lowering his gaze and meets your eyes, staring intently into them. 

You can only hold his gaze for a second before you turn away, thankful that the orange glow casted by the lanterns on the walls will blend in with the pink that has begun to settle on your face. You shuffle and force out a yawn. “I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll be heading to bed now.” You pull your hand away from his and glass your hands together intertwining them and watching him rise back to full height.

The way his eyebrows quirk makes you sure that he doesn’t believe your statement.

“Allow me to walk you back.” He offers his hand towards you, his cape draping and falling off his shoulder.

You give him a gentle smile and place your hand in his.

The walk back to your room is silent, steps echoing in the empty corridors, paintings that come to life watch and try to peer out of the frame as you both pass by hand in hand. He squeezes your hand every so slightly, fingers rubbing along your knuckles. You smile softly whenever he does this, feeling a sense of bond grow between you.

You arrive at your room, the door still closed and silent inside. You both stand there, hands still collapsed tightly against one anothers. He clears his throat and you turn to face him. His eyes look deep into yours, full of an emotion that you can’t place.

There’s a moment that lasts for too long, with breaths being held and your palms starting to get clammy, where you can feel butterflies make a home in your stomach. 

“Good night Diavolo.” You smile at him and the name on your tongue makes your heart skip a beat. 

He presses his lips against the crown of your head and bids you good night, his hand slipping out of yours with ease, his fingers dragging and committing the feel of your hand to memory. 

Once he hears the door click behind him, he brings two fingers to his lips delicately and smiles softly.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not read my work after. ANy mistakes are just something I have to live with.


End file.
